This Scream Queens review contains spoilers.
Scream Queens Season 2 Episode 6
Chanel logic: What do you do when your hospital has just lost its entire blood supply in a Halloween massacre? And you then find out about the blood drive in which the team with the most pints wins an all-expense-paid tropical vacation to some jungle island seething with things that could eat you alive? You just exsanguinate everyone else.
This episode is pretty much a TV confessional for Nurse Awful. Bitter and possibly murderous thoughts echo aloud as she stashes biohazard blood bags from the Halloween party cleanup in a cooler destined for the swamp. The really damning evidence from this mind-reading session isn’t that Hoffle was the name of her late husband, never mind that she can’t even remember his cause of death. It’s the reveal of the maiden name under the mask.
Ingrid Hoffle was formerly Ingrid Bean. As in, the same Ms. Bean from season one who Chanel always greeted with a grossly politically incorrect name as she tiptoed Cinderella-like down the Kappa Kappa Tau house staircase in her marabou feathers and bedazzled shoes. This is also the same Ms. Bean Chanel involuntarily burned to death when she submerged her entre head in a vat of what she thought was water but turned out to be scalding oil courtesy of the Red Devil. Then her lifeless body ended up as an involuntary prop at Chanel’s haunted house. This is why Nurse Awful wants the Chanels dead—whether or not their flawless corpses are buried in designer dresses and their coffins painted pink.
Blood Island is Nurse Awful’s passive-aggressive attempt at sending the delusional Chanels (who completely ignore the ominous name of the island and get hypnotized into woozy daydreams of sex and pink bejeweled bikinis) off to a Bermuda Triangle of poisonous plants and reptilian flesh-eating monsters with more teeth than the hospital has needles. She has been foaming at the mouth with vengeance toward the Chanels ever since the murder of her sister, and it’s only too easy to ensnare them. You know you’ve lured the exact vapid victims you want when the only words they hear are “all expenses paid.” This is something even #3 hears clearly through her bejeweled fur earmuffs.
Nurse Awful wants the Chanels dead, but is she the killer? This is about to get unnecessarily complicated.
Too many clues are materializing without enough evidence to put someone in handcuffs already. It doesn’t exactly help that Hester is now disguised (appropriately enough in pastel purple with matching rhinestone-monogrammed headband) as a med student thanks to Chanel’s whining pleas to Dean Munsch about keeping her hands busy after boredom had her hovering over the queen of pink’s bed with a knife at 2 a.m. So there’s a serial killer who looks like some sort of warped fairy floating down the halls, trying to cure a patient with Vampire Disease, pouring him cup after cup of rejected human blood from the blood drive and feeding it to him in what is definitely not red velvet cake.
Glittery blood fiends aside, there is also Dr. Brock’s hand left to question. It at least seemed to (somewhat) behave during that last few episodes with the exception of a terribly timed and highly inappropriate grab paired with expensive chocolate. Being under fire in Munsch’s office makes the scar on his right hand flare up as if the hand had just been Frankensteined on—that is, before it smashes the glass sheet on her desk in a spasm of rage.
Hester will never be off the suspect list even if we did get a rare telepathic moment in which she was tempted to slash one of the patients in an effort to feed Vampire Boy more blood, but mentally admitted her promise not to kill anyone. Then we can’t forget Dead Doctor aka Cassidy Cascade. Unless you’ve been in a state of rigor mortis since last week, then it became obvious he was the baby born at that bloodbath of a Halloween bash thirty years before the hospital became Chanel Kingdom. But is he the right blood type?
There are so many possible suspects and accomplices in this episode that even Colombo would end up facepalming. Some of the chilling reality (and it might be one you’ve suspected all along if you’re anything like me) emerges from behind the curtain when a trypanophobic turns into a corpse. I’ll even forgive Chanel’s highly erroneous Goth stereotype about needle obsession this time, because her repeat kicking and screaming performances have made it obvious she’s not the killer.